“What’s on your mind, kid?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
They shared a look and laughed. Viktor scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “Did you ever think there would be more?”
“More what?”
“I don’t know, to life? To – everything?” Viktor trilled a laugh and shook his head. “Don’t listen to me I’m just – opening my mouth and letting words come out.”
Red inhaled from his pipe and then blew out a ring of smoke, tapping his finger against the wood. “Sometimes you don’t know your thoughts ‘til you let them out. Talk to me. You want more?”
“I just want to feel like I belong, I guess. Like what I do matters. The others don’t like me much and I don’t know. Sometimes I remember I wasn’t born here, you know?”
“Aye, I do understand that one. Only Var Kunir himself knows how I washed up here.” Tendrils of smoke wafted up from the corners of his mouth as he spoke and for a moment he looked unnatural, the way Rook had when possessed by that creature inside of her. Viktor blinked and told himself to calm down. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping.
“If there’s one thing I will say,” continued Red, “it’s that you have to make do with what you’ve got, you know? Not everyone in the world can be a king. Otherwise things just wouldn’t function. Can’t have a ruler without people to rule.”
Viktor’s shoulders hunched, realising he was probably being immature. “Yeah, I know.”
“Besides,” Red said ruffling Viktor’s hair, “you’ve always got a family here. We take care of our own and I’ll always take care of you.”
Viktor blinked, looking up as the sun set his grey eyes aglow, skin crinkling at the corners. Red had a way of smiling that went beyond his mouth, something pleasant about the gesture. He tended to stand outside the crowd and look in, the way Viktor always felt, which had fostered a strong sense of camaraderie between them. But open affection was rare amongst them and it made his heart soar just to know that someone had his back.
Family was something Viktor had never known, and one couldn’t really miss what they’d never had in the first place, but that didn’t stop the empty ache that flared up sometimes when he saw children playing in the street with their rising voices and scraped knees and sticky smiles. Viktor wanted this man to respect him and to understand him and to think he was worthy of that offer. The feeling of a warm hand on his head still lingered after Red removed it, fingers finding home in his pipe. To Viktor the warmth felt like a sign.
It was comfort after so much unfamiliarity and terror.
“Got a job for you if you’re interested.”
Viktor glanced at Red, straightening up. Could this mean he was finally being trusted with more important jobs than being a cutpurse?
“Seeing as you clearly have nothing to do, I’m taking that as an affirmative.” Red chuckled, interrupted by a cough. “Martok-don himself is looking for something important. I thought I’d ask my best thief to see if he can get his sticky fingers on it.”
“What is it? Viktor asked, finger tracing a sun-warmed tile.
“Some boring documents. Just things that will help our plans.”
“Where am I stealing them from?”
“The Governor’s office.”
Viktor’s hand stopped, muscles tensing. He tried to glance nonchalantly at Red but the man stared back at him with the sun lightening the grey in his eyes. For a long second it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Then Red looked away with a smile, hand clapping him on the shoulder. “You got spotted leaving there.”
“I wasn’t––”
“No, it’s good. You’ve got an in. Besides, I know I don’t need to worry about your loyalty, do I?”
Despite the warmth on his skin, Viktor shivered. “Right. Yes. I’ll find what you need.” He didn’t expect to feel the heaviness in his gut; the desire to protest. He would do it, because he owed it to Red for all the times he had looked out for Viktor when no one else would. But the way his body wanted to recoil in on itself was new. Apparently he felt guilty about the idea stealing from Kilai, which was ridiculous, given the gulf spanning their situations.
I don’t owe her anything, he told himself as he bared his teeth to Red; a mockery of a smile. It felt like a lie.
“When do you need it?”
*
Seeker weaved the air around him, tangling it through his fingers absent-mindedly. Such power was astounding; he could scarcely believe it. It still overwhelmed him, to feel each tingle and shiver from the ocean breeze, able to hear its own particular melody that sang of coming rain. The sensations were becoming more and more familiar to him but his body still wanted to recoil at so much information all at once.
“What are you doing, lazing about here?”
“I’m not doing anything. Does it matter?”
For reasons he could not fathom, Lyss took this as an invitation to sit beside him on the lip of the fountain. “I know you’re hurting right now, Seeker, but you are still a soldier. You must behave like one.”
His mouth twisted. When he had first been conscripted, his brother had taken one look at him and laughed. He’ll never be a soldier, Maker had said. He’s too soft. Seeker had wanted to protest but he’d had no argument. There was no denying that he barely had the stomach for violence, nor did he share the inclination for the petty power games that stained the military. Why had he, of the two of them, the one to be sent to war? Maker would have excelled out here, smarming and charming and learning how to kill. Why was the world cruel enough to put both of them in the wrong place?
“Are you listening to me?”
Seeker’s head shot up, turning his glare on Lyss. “Why are you here? Do you want to gloat? That you’re made for this life and I’m not? Because I don’t care.”
The sun bore down upon him, blinding him with its glare. It was too hot and too bright, so far from the agreeable climate of Sonlin. The Dusklands, the locals here called it, on account of being much darker and cooler than the Myrlik Isles. Personally, Seeker thought this place was a world beyond, some kind of damnation for walking the wrong path. Even the sun rejected him. His skin was raw and he winced as he picked at a blister on his hand. He wasn’t supposed to be in this cursed land, where devils whispered in his ear to make deals for power. Just like the rest of them, he had succumbed to the temptation. Weak. Seeker was so very weak.
“I feel it too, you know. It’s just easier to keep busy so I don’t notice that he’s gone.”
“You weren’t close.”
“No. But his presence is missed.”
“Yeah.” Seeker felt the hum of power, continuing to make patterns with the wind. It helped cool his body from the blistering heat.
Lyss shivered. “You don’t have to be so alone.”
He turned to her. “Because we’re all so warm and cuddly here, aren’t we?” Expressing emotions was considered uncouth. No wonder he had never belonged. “Besides, I’m not alone.”
She looked at him, eyes questioning.
I have the world at my fingertips. Seeker drew in more power, like sucking in a lungful of air, and the water at the base of the fountain rippled with the gust. A wave of pleasure crashed over him and he barely restrained himself from using more, the darkest voice in his head thrilling at the look of confusion on Lyss’ face. He gripped the stone of the fountain, breathing hard to focus. Such heady heights promised a long fall.
“Seeker? Did you ever think about taking another name?”
“Why would I do that?”
“I mean, you’re just Seeker. Don’t you want a family name? Something to distinguish you from everyone else that bears the name?”
“No.” Yes, you do. You are more than what your parents thought you would be. “No.” He slapped his hands over his ears, ignoring a startled Lyss. “No, it is arrogant to believe you are unique. I bear the name of one of the great Pillars. That is all.”
You could be more.
“Sorry, I
didn’t mean to offend you.”
What did it mean that he wanted? His father would have hit him, if he had dared voice such thoughts. For the first time in his life he wanted to understand who he really was. Who he could be, now that everything had changed. The image he had seen in the church sprang to his mind, of the man so strong and self-assured. So many years of being quiet and unassuming, of never dreaming of anything beyond his tiny desert village, and a military career made out of being as passive as possible, all for what?
Seeker had befriended a god. Now he could summon the power of one. There was so much he could be but the thought terrified him. Why him? Meek and mild Seeker, who only knew how to follow. Bitter and cold at the expectation of rejection. Part of him still expected to open his eyes to a world where he had imagined everything, and none of it was real. The thought made his palms sweat.
“Seeker?”
When he shook himself from his thoughts he realised the wind was blowing all around him, whipping the water behind them both into a frenzy. Cold fear slithered down his gullet at the thought of losing control.
Embrace it.
“Then show yourself,” he said, standing. A few heads in the square turned to glance at him. “If you want me, show yourself!”
“Seeker!” hissed Lyss. “What are you doing?”
“Show yourself, you coward! You made a promise!”
Lyss sprang to her feet. “Sit down! You’re making a scene.”
For once in his life, he didn’t care. “Show me!”
The wind crackled and groaned, shutters on the windows rattling, old weather vane creaking as it swung wildly in pirouettes.
If you want me, you must embrace what you want…
At an impasse, he remained standing, doubt threatening to creep in. He shucked off the hand on his shoulder and stood firm, feeling the blasts tug at his hair, wearing at his raw skin and making his eyes stream. Stop, he commanded, latching onto the flow of energy. Stop it! He yanked it away, gritting his teeth.
Suddenly the wind died. Seeker slumped over, panting.
“What is happening with you?”
Seeker didn’t hear her words. All he could see was the fox spirit in the centre of the square, resting her head on her paws as her tails swished to and fro. Even though her face was hidden by a mask, he felt her smile.
Earn your name, little human. Earn it and bear it with pride.
With no explanation to Lyss, he sat back down on the lip of the fountain, beneath the overbearing heat of the sun. The citizens in the square went about their business as if nothing had happened. But only he knew the truth: everything had changed.
*
Viktor generally considered himself a good thief. The reason Viktor considered himself a good thief was because he did not let pride hinder the knowledge of his limitations, for one of the key characteristics of a good thief was that they didn’t get caught. What he was about to do felt like a guarantee of getting caught, as he perched on a wall and munched an apple, cool in the shade cast from the roof of the building overhead. The square was busy when the midday sun was at its peak, packed with people selling wares, mingling, or gathering around the fountain in the centre with the statue of a big cat locked in a springing motion as if ready to pounce, water sprouting from its mouth. At this time it was easier to slip around unnoticed. The soldiers in their indigo coats were too preoccupied with the rabble to spare him a second glance, so he could move through the crowds undetected.
But first he had to wait. The juice from the apple dripped between his fingers, drying sticky on his skin. It made him grimace and he threw away the core with a look of contempt, reluctantly wiping his hands on his trousers. The clock tower rose lofty above the square, illustrious in its giddy heights and polished, bronze bell that had been a gift from the royal family in Glendohn, seat of the Sonlin Empire. Viktor watched the larger hand as it made its agonising circle around the ivory face, time seeming to slow down in mockery of him. He sighed and leant back against the wall behind him, leg swinging casually as if he were a petulant child. Being told that he looked young still irritated him but he wasn’t above using whatever advantages he had to fit in. He knew that if anyone did spot him, he simply looked like somebody’s apprentice that had skipped work to lounge in the shade from the overbearing sun.
As if on cue, as soon as the hand reached the apex of the clock face and the bell tolled a new hour, ringing out deep enough for him to feel the vibration, he saw Kilai exit onto the lane just off the square, two bluecoats flanking her at either side. He felt the tiniest twinge of guilt as he watched her march away, having come to consider her as, not exactly a friend, but something like an acquaintance. Viktor forced himself to shake the thought off. She wouldn’t hesitate to cut him down for this, so he had no need to feel guilty about doing what he did to stay alive.
And besides, Red had asked him. Red had believed he was the best one to carry out this task, and that had to mean something. Viktor would not fail because he was being relied upon and he did not want to let the man down, or worse, make him think Viktor was not capable of a simple theft just because he knew the person in question. If he pulled this off, there was a chance Red would put in a good word for him and he might be afforded more trust than the usual dismissal of the young street boys. Maybe this was chance to properly join the Tendrils. The risk also remained that Red might talk about what he’d seen, if Viktor didn’t come through. Viktor didn’t really think he would, but the fear was residual.
He slipped from the wall and threaded his way through the market stalls, taking his time to look like he was inspecting wares, when really his eyes were scanning all around him so that he knew where each flash of indigo stood amongst the crowd, paying close attention to anyone whose eyes met his for more than the standard second of casual eye contact. The key was to look like a little bit of everything, and nothing all at once. He was dressed nicely but not so flashy that he was noticeable; he looked like he was pondering enough to fit in with the people who tried to haggle with the shopkeepers for fairer prices, but not so interested that he drew their sales pitch; and he walked slowly enough so as not to stand out amongst a meandering throng, slipping through their cracks until he swept out at the other side.
With another quick glance behind him, Viktor stole into the alley, but as he looked forward he felt his heart jump at a pair of soldiers walking towards him, chatting animatedly and not looking at him. Squaring his shoulders, he pretended to walk up and knock on the door, checking a watch he did not have as if annoyed that he was being made to wait. Sometimes the best invisibility came from being noticeable, for that was the way these people tended to behave, as if everything was an imposition. Sometimes the best thievery was forgery of expression.
“She likes to make you wait,” one of the soldiers said as he passed. “I think it makes her feel important.”
Viktor affected a put-upon sigh. “I’m going to be late to my next meeting if she continues to waste my time.”
They both offered a sympathetic laugh and walked on. Viktor waited until their voices had died down to pull out a stolen hair pin, sturdier than the usual thin wire ones, and sharp enough that he was able to release the locking mechanism on the door. Viktor slipped in and shut the door quickly, looking around an empty hall.
It was plain but for a potted plant by the windowsill, small red flowers reaching towards the light, and a staircase that wound up to Kilai’s office. The one item that caught his eye was a painting; a magnificent sprawling canvas in a gilded frame, of a family caught in the intersection between bright searing light and deep shadow, captured in the thick brushstrokes that had made Yormir famous. This was the Siklo family that had once ruled the Myrliks in a time before the Sonlin Empire had come across the Ikkulai Ocean and claimed them.
It struck him as a little odd for a family in support of the Sonlin Empire to not only possess but to display such a painting, even with the way the shadows licked up the faces of the Siklo twins drew thei
r expressions into something frightening and terrible. Perhaps it was to serve as a reminder that they had once been cruel masters, ruling over their people with tight-fisted tyranny. More than likely, Viktor decided as he began to ascend the stairs, it was simply meant to display wealth. A painting by the renowned artist Yormir could fetch staggering amounts of money on the second market, even if it was far too large to make for a practical theft. His fingers twitched as they swept up the polished banister. It would certainly make quite the tale, to steal a painting such as that.
But he had to focus. Viktor was here to steal something much smaller, but of no less importance. He turned his mind to the task as he peeked his head around the door to her office and scanned it, finding it empty. On light feet he crept in and gently closed the door, moving to a desk which was surprisingly cluttered given the expectations he’d built of Kilai in the few times they had met. She had struck him as the organised type, to have everything all in neat piles and stored away in drawers. This chaos of loose papers and half-finished mugs of tea left him curious, fingers idly tracing over the assortment of items.
There was a lot to learn about a person from the way a person treated their possessions and it appeared Kilai was not quite so cold as she tried to be perceived. His hand swept over the ridges of a wooden carving of a turtle, fins dipped with red paint. Something about it tugged at the corner of his lips even as his stomach plunged, feeling like he was intruding on what he shouldn’t be. Viktor quashed the feeling. Sometimes that was thievery, too.
The mess made figuring out where she put important things more difficult. He felt a sense of urgency creep over him as he rifled through various documents and ledgers, much of it written in her own shorthand that he couldn’t even understand. Viktor sighed. How was he supposed to know what he was looking for if he couldn’t understand her writings?
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